


From There We Came Outside And Saw The Stars

by Lady_R



Category: Cuphead (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Betrayal, Blindfolds, Bullying, But Since I Am Cis, But there'll be some comedy too, Claustrophobia, Confinement In Hell, Dark Souls References, Dramatic Flashbacks, Electrocution, F/F, F/M, Hanging, Hilda Berg narrates, Ice Torture, Imprisonment, M/M, Miscarriage, OCE-WARMONGEEER, Of Course there's WWW it's my thing, One Character Is Transgender, Paraplegic Characters, Parental Issues, Resistance, Self Blinding, Self-Harm, Smoke Torture, Solitary Confinement, Sound Torture, The Story Will Not Focus On Their Transition, Toxines, Violence, War flashbacks, Worldbuilding, Www, child issues, childhood flashbacks, dead children, music references, nonbinary characters - Freeform, past flashbacks, wwi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-23 00:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14320131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_R/pseuds/Lady_R
Summary: Cuphead and Mugman have defeated the entire Inkwell Island and have left behind their friends and Elder Kettle, serving the Devil as compliant and sadistic minions. There's no way to escape for all the debtors, who are forced to leave their houses, families and friends behind to meet their cruel, unforgiving end.Among them, there's Hilda Berg, the egotistical and outspoken Blimp Bloke, who came from the cloud city of Flyladelphia in search of fortune, and who enters hell with one last command from the stars, just as hopeful as it is mysterious.But if there's a way to escape eternal damnation, it must be grabbed quick. Because there's rising tension between the minions of Hell, King Dice and Lucifer himself, and Inkwell Isle is not going to take the vanishment of their friends lightly.





	From There We Came Outside And Saw The Stars

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second Cuphead experiment, but this will be a long-fic, wholly narrated by Hilda Berg the Flying Waifu.   
> If you don't like first person stories, don't read. If you do, Hilda is here for you.

Unlike many of us, I always knew it was going to happen. 

I know that when you make a bad decision, you’re bound to face all of the consequences. And if “all” includes “being transported to Hell and suffer for all eternity”, I would have had to consider that too. When I made that deal with King Dice, I considered it. I said yes. 

And here I am, trying my best to hide the fact that it’ll take more than just “getting used to my surroundings” to accept the impending doom. 

Not that it’s easy, mind you. In fact I’m quite terrified. But it won’t change anything anyway. 

 

For now, the biggest issue is how unbelievably bored I am. There’s nothing to do here. King Dice could at least have had the decency to give us a board game or some cards. And s1nce we’re in Hell, I can’t even practice my weather-making skills. Which is a shame: a nice aurora boreale would have given this place a new look. Dice wouldn't probably be happy, but it’s not like I have to consult him. I don’t care about his opinion. He should learn to gain respect from the people he locks away. 

Or maybe I should keep a diary, but what would I write about? “Hilda Berg, First Day In Hell, very tired of sitting down and staring at the ceiling.”. 

I suppose it could be worse. There’s probably a lot of people in here that don’t even have the strength to think. I don’t have to look far from me to notice them, but I still feel powerless to ease their pain and discomfort. What do you even say to someone who probably can’t even hear you from behind a glass wall?

I have to admit, locking Goopy Le Grande inside a jar was pretty ingenious. With or without chains, he’s hard to keep in place. If you cuff him, he’d just slip through the metal. He can phase through every hole bigger than his eyes. We loved giving him different things to slip through. He always loved challenges. But inside a glass jar, kept closed by heavy chains, there’s no room to bounce and no hole his slime could fit through. Does he even breathe? Did he ever breathe at all?

Not that anyone here knows anything about the anatomy of slimes. Maybe Dr. Kahl would. He built an Absolutely Evil Slime Machine when he was just 7 years old. And when he had taken one whiskey too much at the last New Year’s Eve celebration, he told us that 30 Years Later he won his fifth First Prize at the Yearly Evil Awards of Honor for turning the Pope into a piece of slime. And since he was drunk, I know he was telling the truth. Too bad Kahl isn’t here with us. It wasn’t his SOUL on the line, and King Dice accepts no stowaways. I wonder if T3D misses his maker in any way. Or as he calls him, his dad.

And holy hot-air, speaking of dads…

Even with the heavy chains that restrain his body, Wally Warbles looks as huge and strong as the eagles he always compared himself to. His wings are so big I could sleep under them without curling up. I even asked him at one point. He said nothing, his eyes stuck on the ground as if he was scared of looking in any other place. They were as red as the feathers on his head, and shone like pearls under the fiery light of the torches at the wall. 

“All things of grace and beauty”, said one of my favourite books, “such that one holds them to one's heart have a common provenance in pain. Their birth in grief and ashes.”. And it couldn’t be any truer for Wallace Warbles Sr., whose descent into hell left but a sliver of his true self stuck to his colossal body. 

Wally Warbles’ child, also going by the name Wally, was a big headed mischief machine that listened to no one but his father, but it was clear that in the bird’s eyes, there was nothing more beautiful and graceful in the whole wide world. He had already arrived when I finished saying goodbye to my blimp army and had finally reached this waiting room of Hell, and he hasn’t moved an inch from there, staring at the floor, red eyed and silent. 

All the room is silent, actually, except for the sparse beeping of Max’s systems, the clinking of Werner Werman’s teeth against a cigar that’s not there, and the light snoring of the few of us who managed to find some sleep. Three of them are right at my side, and an attempt of a smile appears on my lips for a brief second. 

Baroness Bon Bon lightly shivers in her sleep, her thin legs buckled under her chest. It feels jarring to see her without her skirt, but it was for a good cause. Beppi needs a smooth surface to rest on, or else he might deflate for good. So she gave him his candy skirt to lay on: someone even took a bite from the side, as a lump the size of a nut next to where Beppi’s head rests indicates. Djimmi the Great is curled up next to the snoring clown, his turban covering his eyes and the chain around his lower side glowing a blue hue. Enchanted chains, he said. The only thing that can hold a Genie in his place besides his lamp. 

But anyone who knows Djimmi also knows that he’s not simply repairing his eyes from the light. Claustrophobia is extremely common among the Genie specie, and Djimmi’s case is one of the worst I’ve ever seen. Once he had a panic attack in my house’s bathroom, and Rumor Honeybottoms told me that even the cubicles of her Honeycomb Herald are enough to make him queasy. Something must have happened to get him to this point. None of us knows, however, and this is clearly not the best moment to ask him about it. 

 

But the thing is, I’m tired of waiting. If they’re going to torture me, better do it quick. Bitter medicines are better swallowed in one go. 

I lay on my back, hands folded behind the back of my head. 

The ceiling is dark grey, staines of mold in rancid green and sickly white checkered on its surface. _Ew_. I miss the night sky  - the stars, I need the stars. I need an answer to all this.

One day, two cup brothers decided to gamble their SOULs at the Devil’s Casino. They lost. They re-paid them by giving the Devil - and King Dice, don’t forget about King Dice - those of us all. And here we are: the only thing that keeps us from an eternity of suffering is the Devil’s lack of creativity in coming up with special punishments for each of us in a quick amount of time. 

The only thing I have left is a message from the stars. I spent the last night at home reading them in a thankless search for an answer, a way out, anything. But even they have abandoned me now.

-The chains aren’t there.- I whisper. It appears now even the stars speak in gibberish. -The chains aren’t there.- I repeat.

-What?- Cagney Carnation’s high-pitched voice cuts me up in the middle of my reminiscing. The flower has lost one of their petals, and their leaves are folded across their chest. They bare their teeth at me. -What are you babbling about?-

-Nothing.- I turn around, staring at the other side of the cave where Ribby and Croaks are sitting back to back, each one’s hands clenched tightly into those of the other. As if I needed any more bitterness right now. 

“The chains aren’t there”. _Of course they’re here, you idiotic stars,_ I wanted to scream. _I’m going to hell._ Hell _. The chains will be everywhere. I’ll be so chained I won’t move a finger._

But I cling to these last words like my last supply bottle, filled to the brim with warm and sweet tea. 

Call me stupid and naive, go ahead. But before you do, imagine yourself in my place. 

 

I rest for a while, staring at the disgusting molded ceiling, trying to squeeze the tears out, but my eyes feel as dry as the rocks of Hell I lay on. I rub my hands one in the other, I play with my hair, I move my legs up and down on an imaginary bicycle. I even sleep, for a bit. I doze off laying on my back and I wake up on my belly, my nose uncomfortably pushed against the rocks, which added to the growing pain in my backbone hints to an - understandably - restless night. But I’m grateful for the little moment of relief I was granted. I’d be even more grateful if it had also given me an explanation on what “the chains aren’t there” means, but hey: we can’t have anything.

King Dice arrives during the second bicycle session. And the cup boys are there with him, smiling with their crooked teeth, their ocra eyes gleaming like lighthouses in a storm. 

 _Traitors,_ I mentally grunt. But I resist the urge to throw myself at them and strange them all with my bare hands. I remember very well how they both beat me. Also, I couldn’t bear to come back - if I do come back, and I beg the stars that I do - and meet the face of Elder Kettle after hurting his beloved grandchildren. Even after betraying us all, they’re still his only family. 

The day their side shifting was announced, Elder Kettle locked himself in his own home: I’ve never seen him since, and I bet none of us has either. Not even all the anger I have for these two little hellspawns - and was it for me, I’d ground them for at least their next twenty lives - is enough to make me feel any desire to hurt that poor old porcelain any more. 

I sit up, staring dead in the snake-like eyes of the Devil’s right hand man. 

-Hi-de-ho, everybody.- the dice proclaims. -It is with my greatest pleasure that I announce you that all of your fates have been devised.-

The cup boys cackle at these words. -Aren’t you glad?- Cuphead asks. -We could have just tossed you into a lake of fire as par for the course, but we decided to be creative. Just because we looove you so much.- 

I want to spit on the ground, but what for? It’s not like it’d improve my situation or worsen theirs. Now if only I could reach the Dice man himself, ruining his precious tux, it’d be another deal. On the other hand, however, that man deserves even worse. I imagine my hands wrapping around his neck for some seconds, before I suddenly remember he has no neck to begin with. And his face is solid glass, not very punchable. He’s tough, I have to admit it. I wonder how the cup boys managed to defeat him. 

And if they defeated me and all the others in this room, the war veterans, the bittersweet queens, the antisocial plant life and the giant robot, what chance do I have against them?

King Dice pulls two bottles from his tux pockets and hands them to Cuphead and Mugman. The cups stop their cackling, and walk in impeccable silence towards the corner the Root Pack has cowered into. 

-Drink.- Mugman says, his voice now sounding creaky and slurred. Weepy Onion is the first one to take the bottle, sipping it with one hand as Psycarrot holds their other. Tears fall from their eyes - they hadn’t been stopping since the moment we came here, but nobody had the heart or energy to complain or shut them up - and their face contorts into a grimace as they pass the bottle to Moe Tato. Psy has taken the other, and is staring at the content through the dark glass.

-Don’t limit yourself.- Mugman orders. -They’re endless.- 

I wait in line as the cups walk from one convict to the other. Sally Stageplay starts coughing loudly. Beppi holds the drink in his mouth and bounces it from one cheek to the other. Djimmi doesn’t even take the turban off his eyes for the sip, resulting in it being unceremoniously splattered all over his chest. It’s purple, and it glistens like molten coal. 

-Hey, blimp wimp. Your turn.- 

-That was my joke.- I avert my eyes from them, taking a small sip. I don’t trust this drink, and when it reaches my tongue I have to cover my mouth not to spit it. It’s like drinking paint - and yes, I know firsthand what it tastes like. People tend to do weird things when they’re children and they’re dared to. They offered me a locket in the shape of Jupiter: how could I refuse? 

I shut my nose and tilt my head backwards, feeling the gooey concoction slowly slip down my throat. It’s like swallowing a snail. No, this one I didn’t do. But I can imagine this is what it’d be like. I wipe my mouth, glaring at the cups. 

-I d-do hope you’re proud of yourselves, boys. Please, take a moment to appreciate what you’re doing.-

-Bark as much as you like, Blimp. There’s no way out of here,- Mugman says. His eyes are yellow, and so are his brother’s - but not the comforting, welcoming yellow of the stars. It’s the yellow of bile, of rotten fruit and poisonous water. I look at the ground, disgusted. I want to go home. 

 _The chains aren’t there._ What does it even mean? 

-They’re all done, sir.- they announce to King Dice. I catch a glimpse of Captain Brineybeard spitting and gasping, the purple potion dripping from his beard. He was the last on the right. I guess that’s it. 

_The chains aren’t there. Yes they are, of course they are! And they’ll never come undone._

I get up, and my legs buckle. It takes me all my strength not to fall on the ground. When I sit down, I notice thick tar-black spots in front of my eyes. 

-Vhat did you give me, you _Arschgeige*_?- Werner Werman grunts. His fists are so tightened his knuckles pop from under the gloves. 

-The v-vermin is right.- Wally yells. -What is this?- Werner rolls his eyes, but doesn’t budge. 

Weren’t we in Hell, he’d already have summoned his tank and blasted his bird enemy (or “feind”, as he’d say”) to the wall. And Wally would shake the dirt off his back and blasted the rat back with a rain of sapphire feathers. And maybe I’d intervene, grabbing them both by the ears (or in Wally’s case, whatever the bird equivalent for ears is), and put them back in their place.

But this is Hell: they deserve one last scuffle. Even if it’s so short. 

It’s only then when I realize the black spots are taking over my vision. They now look as big as coffee plates, and they’re so thick, and heavy. I fall on my side, hands on my face. On my side, Cagney Carnation plugs their hands in their throat and coughs.

And my eyelids feel as heavy as the mountain we’re under. Narcotic, I think as I wipe my tear-filled eyes. The last sleep before the beginning of an endless nightmare. 

Nightmare. Wait. I see now…

-The chains aren’t there!-  I yell, pushing against the drowsiness that is taking over me. It comes off slurred, wrong, but I scream again. -The chains aren’t there! The chains aren’t there!-

Was this what the stars wanted to tell me, all along? That Hell is illusory? That our prison won’t be of bars and keys? -The chains aren’t there!- Or maybe my mind is just slipping away, and in that case I simply deserve my last bout of madness before the end comes. 

-The chains aren’t there!-

-What d-do you mean, Hillll- Rumor Honeybottoms slurs. 

-Ignore the blimp.- King Dice says loudly. -She’s out of her mind.- 

-The chains aren’t there…-

One last scream before all the lights are turned off.

And I float - not the way I am supposed to. I’m a lost balloon, waiting to meet its end in space. I float in a tar-black sky, where every star grins at me like a starving beast. I float through thunderous clouds and blinding white lighting and acid rain, no moon on sight to light my way.   
I float, but this time I can’t get back on the ground. 

_The chains aren’t there. The chains aren’t there. The chains aren’t there._

_But why can’t I move, then?_

**Author's Note:**

> *Arschgeige: a hard-hitting German insult, apparently meaning “ass violin”.


End file.
